Paint Me Gone (Gen Delacourt Mystery Book 3)

by Molly Greene

  “The girl’s name is Shannon. I’m curious about her staying gone so long and out of touch with family, if she’s still alive. I don’t think it’s practical to believe that could be true, but I wonder about the possibility and how someone could do that.”

  “You mean the psychology of a human being’s ability to disconnect completely from a previous life.”

  “You said it better than I could.”

  “Genny, people do it all the time. Kids run away from home and never look back. Hell, wives and husbands walk away from kids and families and start over again somewhere else. It happens.”

  “Is it that simple? I didn’t ask directly, but I got the impression they were close.”

  “Siblings often have completely different experiences of their childhoods, even when they grow up in the same house. And when we lose something, we soften the memory of it. We romanticize situations, we improve on the truth. Your client may have been more attached to Shannon than Shannon was to her.”

  “Are you saying Sophie is misremembering?”

  “I’m saying it’s possible.”

  “I know I couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing my friends and family again.”

  “Something else was more important to Shannon. Or the prospect of spending the rest of her life behind bars convinced her to walk away.”

  “Sophie says she didn’t kill anybody.”

  “Then maybe Shannon didn’t go of her own free will.”

  “I thought of that. But how could she not regain her freedom in twenty years?”

  “That’s happened before, too. Finding out the truth calls for a private investigator. I know a really good one.”

  Gen chuckled. “And I know a really good cook who better get to work before his pregnant wife gets too hungry and eats us all.”

  “Yikes,” Cole said. “When you put it that way.” He stood and stretched.

  Gen watched as he glanced around the yard in the dim light. “Counting your blessings?”

  Cole looked at her and grinned. “Is it that obvious?” He nodded as he answered her question.

  “Every minute of every day.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Gen drove back to the city Monday with a basket the size of Bermuda riding shotgun. It was filled with vegies they’d harvested early that morning, along with freshly-laid eggs, Mason jars of homemade soup and applesauce, and the last of the raspberry muffins.

  It was always that way now, driving south with a haul that looked as if she’d robbed a natural foods restaurant. Every time she left Healdsburg, her mind and her body had both been fed nutritious things, and there was more for the road.

  The mid-morning traffic was sluggish so she went with the flow, using the time to hook on her headset and touch bases with the answering service. The cheater’s wife wanted an update. Ooops. Time to bite the bullet and tell her what was going on.

  Mack had called to report there hadn’t been much progress on her request, and he’d check in again when he had something. Two more job leads had come in.

  The sleuth business was improving.

  When she reached home base she trucked everything upstairs and unpacked, then called Oliver on his cell. He didn’t answer. When his voice mail prompt pinged, she left a message. “I’m home. Call when you have a chance.”

  She was about to head downstairs to her office when the cell phone hummed. The display announced Oliver.

  “Did you have fun?” he asked.

  “It’s always fun,” she said. “You should come with me sometime.”

  Liv sucked in a little air between his teeth. “I’m surprised you like it. I know you get nervous in open spaces.”

  Gen laughed. “You make it sound like I’m a gazelle getting stalked by a cheetah.”

  “You know what I mean. You like the bad air and crowded streets of the city.”

  “I get it. Want to go with me to see Sophie Keene today? I gave her a call earlier. She’s working on a room in a house near the thrift shop you love. It won’t take long, I just want to ask a couple questions.”

  “Sure,” Livvie replied. “As long as we can hit the aisles at Out Of The Closet afterwards.”

  “I might be ready to take you up on the disguise idea.”

  “Oh, be still my heart.” Oliver heaved a convincing stage-appropriate sigh. “You’re finally going to let me dress you up like a librarian. I’ve been keeping my mouth shut about your need for a costume like that for months.”

  “You don’t keep your mouth shut about anything, ever. It’s one of the reasons I like you so much.”

  “Says you. Trust me, I’ve been holding back. But today’s the day.”

  “Whoa, now. Let’s take it slow. The idea of buying clothes somebody else has sweated in still gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

  “Get over it.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “You know, I find brand new things all the time at the resale places, still with the tags on. We could look for regular stuff for you, too. It’s a blast.”

  “Maybe if I take a quarter of a Xanax first. Can you be ready in half an hour?”

  “I’m ready now. All I need to do is slip on my dancing shoes.”

  Gen was laughing when she thumbed off the phone.

  * * *

  The stairs of the halfway house opened right onto the street, like many San Francisco residences. This one was a four-story walk-up, and the paint was peeling just a tad in places. Gen noticed a few old roller shades hanging askew, while other windows had been gussied up with lace panels and flowered drapes.

  The foyer was neat, complete with a bench placed in a small room with an open glass panel. The woman occupying the office was on the telephone. She held up a finger when she saw them enter.

  Gen figured her for the gatekeeper. She was about sixtyish. Her hair was long and thick and frizzy, and she’d tied it back with a shoestring as though she’d given up trying to deal. Her clothes were monotone gray and serviceable. Her expression was determined, overworked, and no-nonsense. She replaced the receiver and tried to look attentive.

  “Help you?”

  “Yeah,” Gen replied. “We’re looking for Sophie Keene.”

  The woman pointed the same finger she’d used before, this time up at the ceiling. “Top floor, 402. I think you’ll probably find her on a ladder.”

  “Thanks.”

  Gen followed Oliver up the staircase. When they reached the top and found the room, Sophie was, indeed, on a ladder, screwing in brackets destined to hold up a gold-tone curtain rod. She had one side up and was working on the other when they walked in.

  “Hey Sophie,” Gen said.

  She turned her head and smiled over her shoulder. “Almost done here,” she said, then returned to her task.

  Oliver sat and took out his phone.

  Gen stood at the threshold and checked the place out. The room was painted a warm beige with white trim and baseboards. A double bed made up with a darling magnolia-printed comforter and pillow shams was placed against the opposite wall with its foot toward the door. A low storage bench with a wood top was tucked against its foot, and a fringed microfiber throw was tossed across it.

  An off-white bedside table with a glass top held a clock, a reading light, and a copy of AA's Big Book. An inexpensive ten-drawer dresser had been freshened up with paint and a runner and a pretty mirror. A stack of novels waited on it.

  Oliver got up and walked to a chair by the double windows and picked up the rod Sophie would undoubtedly be hanging soon. Eggshell curtains, newly washed, were draped across the back. He strung the tabbed tops of two of the panels along the rod, then held them off the floor as he moved toward the ladder.

  “Thanks, Oliver. That was gentlemanly of you,” Sophie said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I see you know your way around a drapery rod.”

  Gen took the seat Oliver vacated. “I should have mentioned that Liv’s a decorator, too.”

 
Oliver offered up the curtains. “You’ve done a lovely job here.”

  “Our resources are limited, but we try.”

  “You said you outfit the rooms from thrift shop finds,” Gen said. “It’s impossible to tell that anything here is second-hand.”

  “Uh-huh.” Sophie placed the rod and drew the panels to opposite sides of the window, then fluffed them up. The bottoms grazed the floor and puddled perfectly. “It’s selfish, in a way. I get to indulge in two of my favorite things, shopping in thrift shops and decorating rooms, and I get to do good at the same time.”

  “I’m jealous,” Livvie said. “Those are my favorites, too.” He took a few steps back and fisted his hands on his hips. “Did all this come from Out Of The Closet?”

  “Honestly, I can’t remember. We hit the stores almost every day and we have a lot of regular stops, so it’s hard to keep the stuff straight. I buy things and wash them and paint them and spruce them up, then put what matches together.”

  She climbed down off the ladder and swept her hand around, indicating the room. “I can tell you that everything here except the mattress and box spring is from a resale place. Those were donated.”

  Oliver chimed in. “Hey Sophie, can I help you sometime? I mean with the decorating. I love to shop. And I’d like to help you jazz up rooms like this.”

  “I’d like that, too,” she said. “We can use all the help we can get.”

  Sophie glanced at Gen. “What did you need to know?”

  “A few things about Shannon’s life in New York.”

  “Sure.”

  “What kind of modeling did she do?”

  “Still photography, like the picture I showed you. You can see how photogenic she was. Sometimes she worked as an artist’s model. She could hold still forever. She used to tell me her mind would just slip away into a fantasy world during a sitting.”

  “How did she get her jobs?”

  “She had an agent who booked her. Word of mouth, too. One artist told another.”

  “Were you close? Did you always know where she was working?”

  “Yeah, we were pretty close.” Sophie nodded. “When we were kids, anyway, and all through high school. Our parents are great, our family looked normal. You know, no noticeable dysfunctions.”

  “I hear a ‘but’ in there.”

  “Dad was a secret womanizer and Mom drank in the bathroom at night to cope. During the day, everything was bright and cheery. They’re healed now. No more affairs, no more booze. But it was too late for us. We followed in their footsteps.”

  “How so?”

  “I started drinking in college. You know, it was almost expected. I took it too far and couldn’t find my way back. Shannon joined me once in a while, and you know college parties. Give a girl a shot of tequila and her pants fall off.”

  Sophie turned away. “It was my fault.”

  Gen left her alone for five beats before she started in again, this time in a gentler tone. “What makes you say that?”

  “The truth. I was a bad example. Hell, I almost encouraged her. She always looked to me for approval, and I didn’t tell her sleeping around was a mistake. She would have listened to me, but I was too far gone to give her any guidance.”

  She turned back to Oliver and Gen. “Have you ever done something you regretted for a long time?”

  “Of course,” Oliver replied.

  “Do you ever stop paying?”

  “You make peace with your own shortcomings,” Gen said. “And you recognize that others have to take responsibility for the choices they make. You can’t force someone to do the right thing. They have free will.”

  “I was her big sister,” Sophie said.

  “Does that mean your life should be forfeit?”

  “That’s what it means to me.” She crossed her arms and moved away to stare out the window. “Was there something else?”

  “The girl she allegedly murdered. They must have known each other. Were they friends? Were they both models?”

  “I don’t know. Shannon never mentioned her name. I have no idea how they were connected, or if they even were.”

  “What did the police say at the time?”

  “They just said they had evidence that added up to the fact that Shannon killed her.”

  “But they never shared the details with you.”

  “No.”

  Gen cleared her throat. “One more thing. I wondered if Shannon ever got intimately involved with the artists she worked for.”

  Sophie was still looking out the window. “Is the Pope Catholic?”

  “Okay.” Gen looked at Oliver and hooked a thumb toward the door. “That’s all I need. We’ll let you get back to it.”

  Gen wondered how she was able to detach from her clients. It sometimes seemed the people who sought her out needed more help than whatever predicament they’d come to her about. She walked over and stood beside Sophie. They were quiet, watching pedestrians hurry by on the sidewalk below. “Sophie?”

  She looked aside at Gen. “Yes.”

  “One of the Twelve Steps is to forgive, both yourself and others.”

  Sophie nodded. “That’s the one I have trouble with.”

  * * *

  Gen shouldered her bag and took Oliver’s arm when they reached the sidewalk. His heels brought him eye level with her, and he regarded her now and held her gaze. “I thought the world couldn’t offer me many more bombshells, not after what I’ve already experienced.”

  “It’s the crappy part about this job.” Gen squeezed closer. “And the good one, too. The people who show up on my doorstep are always in some kind of trouble. It’s hard, seeing that. And it reminds me how lucky I am to be on my side of the desk.”

  “I bet it feels good when you can help.”

  “It does, but I can’t always resolve their issues. I hope I can bring truth. Maybe a little clarity. Come to think of it, I could use a little of that, too.”

  “Clarity will come.” Oliver patted her arm. “Something else will have to fill its place for now.”

  Gen stopped. “What?”

  “Retail therapy,” he replied. “You promised we’d cruise the thrift shop.”

  “Rats. Okay. Drive or walk?”

  “Walk. It’s just down the block a ways.”

  Out Of The Closet was bustling that morning. It was Wednesday, and all the clothing was fifty percent off. Livvie grabbed a cart and hustled Gen over to women’s dresses to share his strategy. “Start at one end of the row,” he said. “Push back every single hangar. Look at every dress. Don’t pick and choose and jump around. You have to look at every one, Genny, I mean it.”

  She gave him a little eye roll but did as she was told, moving in close to the rack and peeling back the hangars one at a time. She made a sour face at one particularly horrid floral mini, and he fisted his hands on his hips and glared until she lost the attitude.

  Once she’d settled into a rhythm, Oliver moved a few yards up the aisle and started to browse for himself, close enough to keep an eye on her but not get in the way. She could tell he was watching her covertly. She tried to pretend, but she was clearly not enthralled and simply going through the motions.

  Her expectations were low.

  She didn’t know how to look at a garment and see what it could be, despite its shabby surroundings. She was used to looking at expensive clothes displayed in chic places, and this didn’t fit the bill. She was wrong, but Livvie wasn’t going to tell her so.

  She would have to be shown.

  “Here,” he said. “Look at this.”

  He pulled a dark red gabardine sheath out of the jumble and held it up. “It matches the suit jacket you wore the other night. I’m guessing the skirt is too big now, right? And probably out of style. This is a twelve, it’ll fit you perfectly. It’s been worn maybe twice, if that.”

  Gen looked unconvinced, but he put it in the cart anyway. “Gen, you need some stuff. Your courtroom days might be over, but your life isn’t.
Look at this as an adventure.”

  “I can still go to Nordstrom if I want.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t. That’s the thing. And why shop there when you can spend a fraction of the money here? And it goes to a good cause, too.” He pulled another dress from the melee, this one a sweet, sleeveless summer frock with a flirty hemline and a tiny nosegay print. Her eyebrows went up when he held it out.

  “See?” He slapped it into the cart. “Your turn.”

  She pursed her lips and flipped through a dozen things, then pushed back a wad of hangars with a smile. Liv walked over and took a look. It was a little black dress, sleek and velvety, with a scoop neck and long, tight sleeves.

  The original price tags hung from a plastic string. He turned it over and read. “Tadashi Shoji, size twelve. Originally one hundred ninety-nine ninety-five, marked down fifty percent at the department store.” He gave her a look. “Yesterday fifty dollars, but today it’s half price.”

  She shrugged. “It might not look good on me.”

  “Oh, please. This little number was made for you.”

  “Is there a dressing room?”

  “Honey, we’re not in Nordy’s.” He jerked his head toward the back. “There’s a mirror over there. We take turns.”

  “I can’t try this on in here. People will see.”

  “Genny. Look around. People don’t care.”

  She stood on tiptoe and looked. Sure enough, a shopper discreetly shucked her shirt and slipped a dress on over her head. She didn’t seem to mind anyone taking a gander at her white cotton Playtex bra.

  “Okay. I’m game.”

  “Were you serious about the disguise?”

  “Yeah, you think we could find a burka in here? That’d do the trick.”

  “Right, and whoever you were following wouldn’t notice you tagging along in a burka. Like I said, I think you should try dowdy librarian. Mid-calf skirts and matronly sweaters. Heavy glasses. Nothing colorful or memorable. What do you think?”

  “I like it. I’ll go check out the skirts.”

  They spent an hour combing the racks, holding up clothes and calling back and forth across the rows. Gen was surprised she got into the spirit as much as she did. The humor kicked up a notch when they finally rolled the cart to the rear of the store and tried the pieces on.